Back on the road again

Muscle memory is an amazing thing.  Over a  period of years of riding a bike, my leg muscles, when used regularly, fall into a very comfortable rhythm of turning over the crank about 80 times per minute.  When not used regularly, they fall into a rhythm similar to a fine precision clock.  Well, at least a fine precision clock that has been tossed off a cliff.

For the past two days I have been doing a loop of about 11 miles.  A few short years ago a short loop would have been 20.  But after taking a considerable amount of time off the bike, for which there are no good reasons, 11 miles seems to be a good number to start.

I have not been consistent about getting on the trainer in the basement.  It is very hard to get enthused about parking myself on a bike that goes nowhere.  It is a good workout, on a good day.  But a half hour on the trainer is nothing like 15 minutes on the road.  An hour on the road seems to go faster than 10 minutes on the trainer.  The rhythm is different also.  It is not hard to hold a steady pace on the trainer, but toss in a few grades (there are no hills around here, just grades) and suddenly my cadence changes slightly as the hill progresses and gears change, my legs start to complain and my heart rate goes up much quicker, the scenery changes and it is much better than the basement.  

Even after two quick rides, the memory comes back.  Muscles remember how to tighten and loosen, I shift without thinking, I slide back and forth on the saddle as the terrain changes.  I stop thinking about what to do next.  I see birds, cows and farmers in the middle of spring planting.  The wildflowers are starting to bloom in the hedgerows and unplowed fields.  And there must be a deer or two around somewhere.

As I ride along, I think back to other rides.  The long hills of DALMAC, the steepness of Brockway Mountain, rider-packed roads of RAGBRAI and the castle with the moat in France.  I guess memory is not restricted to muscles.

Yes, I sold a bike

This weekend was the annual "Spring Fling" on the Courthouse Square in Mason.  Spring Fling is one of those small town events with craft booths, food and musicians designed by the Chamber of Commerce to get people out of their houses and into downtown Mason after a long winter.  It is a great little event that draws people from all over the area.  And drawing visitors from outside Mason is a good thing, because to people who live in Mason the weekend of the Spring Fling is when all the neighborhoods hold their annual garage sales, cleaning out their garages, basements and attics of surplus "stuff."

We rarely have a garage sale, mostly because we don't have that much stuff that accumulated to make a sale worthwhile.  But this year, the young one decided it was time to part with some of her childhood toys, and we had some excess furniture and other things, so why not?

Among the items I brought out of the basement was a nice Italian-made Bianchi frame made from Dedacciai tubing.  The frame was originally to be for the young one, but it is a 55 centimeter frame, she really needed a 53, and I got a great deal on a 53 LeMond frame last year and built it up.  So this year, I thought I would sell the Bianchi, as it is a nice, solid frame that I would probably never have any use for again.

This was something Kath has rarely seen, me parting  with a bike.  She has only seen it one other time, when I sold Hubert an old Fuji that I turned into a fixed gear about ten years ago.  There are bikes she knows I will only part with upon death.  But the Bianchi, to me, was not one of those bikes.  She kept asking if I was sure I wanted to do this.  "Once sold at a yard sale, it is gone forever, you may never find another like it....."  I was sure, but I was also convinced that selling a bike frame at a yard sale would be a long shot anyway.

Throughout Friday, the first day of the sale, we kept hearing the same thing.  "Where are the wheels?"  "Fifty dollars for that?" "I can buy a whole bike at Walmart for $60. "   But to save the day from these same comments over and over(one of my friends refers to non-cyclists as "the great unwashed"), there were two people who knew what the bike was, and what a deal it represented.  Unfortunately, they both passed.

The joint between the seat tube and top tube on Kath's Farmer's
market bike.  The frame was done by Powdercoat Studio.

Saturday morning went much the same for the Bianchi,  more great unwashed scratching their heads in amazement since they could buy a whole bike at Meijer for $75 and wondering where the wheels went, there was one wise gentleman who gave the old frame a close inspection.  He picked it up and turned it over, noticing the missing part of a decal on one side, and a little surface rust at the lugs.  He asked if it was a 57.  No, a 55. "That might work."  He put it down, pondered a few seconds more, pulled out his phone and took a picture.  As he started to walk away, he said, "Interesting frame."

Who he called as he walked away is not certain.  But he wasn't but a few yards down the sidewalk when he did an about-face and returned, with two twenties and a ten in hand.  We talked briefly after I recommended Powdercoat Studio in Traverse City as a great place for putting a  quality new coat on the "vecci ragazzo" (old boy) and showed him Kath's Farmers Market Cruiser, with a Powdercoat Studio finish.  Then he left, with the frame in his hand and a bounce in his step.

He probably thought he got a steal.  He did.  But what I got out of the transaction is knowing the frame would be used much more than if it were hanging in my basement.  With a new finish and some spare parts, it would make a fine bike once again.  It would be ridden, which was what it was made for, no longer hanging on a hook in the far corner of the basement, but possibly being ridden as a commuter bike, on long rides on the weekend, pulling children in a trailer, on a great adventure around the state, across the country or around the world.

I really didn't sell the Bianchi.  Like a mustang set loose on the prairie,  I gave it an opportunity to be what it was meant to be.  Something it would never be if it were hanging from a hook in my basement.

Lessons learned from a storm

Each spring, severe weather in the form of thunderstorms, high winds and even tornadoes will roll across mid-Michigan.   In 2011, just before Memorial Day, we experienced a storm that featured high winds, driving rain and even some hail.  There was no apparent damage to the house or cars, but we were without power.

The cause of the power outage was immediately apparent.  The high voltage “Y” shaped aluminum power towers, and the high voltage lines that run between them to feed the transfer station about a mile west of our house were badly damaged.  While not called a tornado, the winds had been powerful enough to twist many of the towers like a pretzel, and rip others completely out of the ground.   High-tension power lines were snapped like cheap string.

We live in a society that is dependent on electricity.  Stop for a moment to think about how much of our day is tied to electricity.  Every morning the alarm wakes us and the toaster helps with breakfast.  Traffic lights make getting to work faster and safer.  Computers and cell phones need power.  Getting money from the ATM, nighttime school events, reading a book late at night, the midnight snack from the refrigerator and much more are only possible because of the electricity fed to our homes and communities by power lines. 

The most we had ever been without power had been about two days.  This repair promised to take much longer.   In the end, it would be six days before power returned.  We were prepared for a two, or even a three-day power outage, but had not been ready for anything longer.   We have a number of flashlights and lanterns on hand, but most of our batteries are rechargeable and most of them were in a drawer, completely dead.  We had a refrigerator/freezer and a standup freezer that were filled with frozen vegetables from the garden, a couple of frozen pizzas, a turkey and a few pounds of meat.   Being on city water, and with a self-igniting water heater, we had a steady flow of water and did not have to worry about a pump, taking away one concern.

Looking back on the six days, we were prepared for a short power outage, but not a longer one.  Our two biggest inconveniences were defrosting food and no lights.   We had a crank powered radio to keep us connected with the world and listen to baseball games.  We cooked the pizzas on our backpack oven.  We cooked meat on the grill.  Everything else was packed in coolers and the coolers covered with sleeping bags to insulate them more.  The turkey would help keep the rest of the food cold enough to save to be cooked when the power came back and then refrozen, while the vegetables would be dehydrated.

The easy solution for the next major power outage would have been to purchase a portable generator, or have a natural gas generator connected to our home.  Or, would a better solution be to re-think how, and how much power we use.  The Amish live complete lives without power.  We should be able to last a few days.

We took steps to be better prepared.  Now, there is always a fresh 24-pack of AA batteries in the house to provide enough light to last for two weeks.  We have emptied the freezer, instead choosing to dehydrate or can the vegetables we normally would have placed there.  We keep a lot less frozen meat on hand.   By not having a freezer in the basement, we save about $10 a month in electricity.  There are now prepared  “ready kits,” with clothes, a first-aid kit and food for three days for the family, the dog and the cat ready to go.

The greatest lesson learned is how much power we have reduced how much electricity we use, and our bill, by about 20 per cent.  Since the storm, we have been more aware of when a light or bathroom fan is left on.  We turn off computers when finished.  We have identified the appliances in the house that use standby power, and have specialized power strips that will only power up a connected device when the main device is turned on.  The best example is the DVD player receives power only when the television is on.   

It is just a matter of time before we lose power again.  But the lessons that have been learned, and the changes that have been made in our lifestyle, will hopefully make that time less stressful.